


Breakdown

by TheMightyChipmunk



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 50/50 AU, Cancer, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, honestly this has no plot, more cursing that was probably necessary, really random drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/pseuds/TheMightyChipmunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Enjolras and Grantaire version of the car scene in 50/50.<br/>Grantaire breaks down because his surgery is tomorrow and he argues with Bahorel and so he calls his new therapist, Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> BASED OFF 50/50 so the situation is 100% based off of that movie, which I watched last night (it's great. everyone should watch it). It probably will make little sense if you haven't seen the movie but I've been considering doing a whole fic based off of it, with e/R at the center? But we'll see... anyway, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it. It's really silly and pointless. :)
> 
> oh yeah, and btw the italics are supposed to be Enjolras' POV, just in case there was any confusion there.

“Fuck you Bahorel! You care more about using my GODDAMN _DISEASE_ to get yourself fucking laid then being my friend!” Grantaire’s words rendered Bahorel speechless and once again R hated himself for his ability to spit biting words no matter the situation. He slammed the door behind him and slumped against the door. He felt tears prick his eyes and that familiar roil of his stomach as he heard a slam behind him that he assumed was ‘Rel punching the wall. Grantaire felt his breath picking up and he did the only thing he could think to, scrambling to his bag and pulling out his phone. Thumbing through his contacts he pressed his name quickly, not letting himself take the time to think about what a bad idea it was and how he probably didn’t want to trouble himself with Grantaire’s problems anyway.

“Hello?” Damn, his voice was even perfect over the telephone. Grantaire hated himself, but he already felt better, already felt his heartbeat slow and his head clear.

“Hey, Apollo.”

“Grantaire? What’s wrong? It’s midnight.” Grantaire could practically hear him worrying, probably sitting up straighter and running a hand through his wild curls like he always did. _Enjolras sat up straighter, cracking his spine and tossing aside his copy of_ The Social Contract _as he tried not to panic. Well, okay, he gently set down his copy of_ The Social Contract _on his nightstand as he tried not to make it to obvious that he was panicking._

“Oh, nothing, I’m just probably having one of those nervous breakdowns you said were so common. I think I also might have made Bahorel cry.” His voice cracked at the end and he accidently let out a whimper as he tried to take a deep breath. _Enjolras felt his stomach sinking and he felt Grantaire’s pain pierce him like a knife. He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t know what to do._

“Grantaire… I’m really glad you called.” _He said it quietly, knowing the words weren’t enough. He took a deep breath and tried to think of what he could do. He knew Grantaire. He could help him. He could and he had to._ The words flooded Grantaire with relief and even though there was still that voice in the back of his mind telling him Enjolras was just saying that, somehow, it wasn’t as loud anymore. So he talked. He knew logically that this is exactly what he should’ve been doing at all of those therapy sessions, where he chose to drool over his therapist instead of actually talk to him.

“I’m just so _angry_ , Apollo. And damn it all I am _so fucking tired_ of being sick,” Grantaire took a pause to breathe and when Enjolras didn’t say anything back he just kept going, “And you know it’s all really ironic, because in high school and all throughout college I was that really depressed, angsty-loner kid and I honestly thought about suicide, contemplated how okay I would be with my life just ending and now? Now... I don’t want to die, Apollo. I’ve barely even _lived_ , I’m not ready to die. I’ve never seen the northern lights or played Messy Twister or finished my art degree. I’ve never … told a guy I loved him. I’ve never met a famous person or been to the Louvre or… I’ve never even been to fucking Mexico and I _love_ tequila, man, I really do… Shit. I just really preferred being apathetic. I actually care now and I hate it. And I blame you, mostly.” _Of course, Grantaire couldn’t be sincere the whole time. He had to add a bit of sarcasm to the end, there. A month ago that would’ve pissed Enjolras off, but now it actually made his smile. It was typical Grantaire, clinging to humor as a defense mechanism._ “Sorry,” _he added, and Enjolras wished he could drive to his house and make him some tea, wrap him in a blanket, and hug him until he stopped being sad,_ “I probably sound crazy. I’m actually not drunk, I promise you. Ugghh, it’s something about the uncertainty about whether or not you’re going to see another fucking sunset that makes you want to bare your soul to someone.”

“You don’t sound stupid. You’re completely entitled to anger, Grantaire, it’s actually-”

“I swear to God, Apollo, if you tell me it’s ‘normal’ I am going to reach through this phone and punch you right in your stupid perfect jaw.” _Enjolras clenched said jaw reflexively, knowing he was doing this all wrong,_ “I’m sorry, man, I’m being an asshole. You’re just trying to help and-”

“No, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, cutting him off this time, “God, I’m the asshole here. If you haven’t already noticed, I am completely unprepared for you. _This job is really hard_. If I say the wrong thing or push too hard I could really fuck up someone’s whole life. And damn it, Grantaire, I push too hard _a lot_. Especially when I care.” Grantaire smirked, despite himself, and laughed as his head lolled back against the side of the bed.

“Does that mean you care about me?” _his voice was teasing, but Enjolras felt his stomach tighten. He wanted to scream through the line that it was fucking obvious he was falling in love with the jackass, but he didn’t want to push. Again, he did that a lot and Grantaire was fragile, despite him not wanting anyone to know. So instead he just told the truth (in much softer words)._

“Of course I do.” He whispered and Grantaire felt his heart flutter in the cheesiest way possible. He brushed away a stray tear the spilled down his cheek and rolled his shoulders.

“So what were you doing when I called? Writing another sharply-worded letter to our painfully misguided senator?” Enjolras laughed softly and Grantaire honestly considered making the sound his ringtone if he made it through this whole thing.

“Believe it or not, scolding government officials isn’t the only thing I do in my free time.” Grantaire was the one to laugh this time, and he felt a bittersweet ache at how easy it was to do this with Enjolras. Whatever ‘this’ was.

“Oh, you have other hobbies then? Enlighten me, please.”

“If you must know, I was reading _The Social Contract_ by-” _Grantaire let out a loud and obnoxious noise at this, effectively cutting Enjolras off mid-sentence,_ “What?” _he asked, annoyed at the insult_ , “What cynical insight do you have to offer about Rousseau?” There was a distinct challenge in his voice, although he didn’t seem too angry, so Grantaire was simply endeared.

“Oh, Apollo, I swear. One day, I will tell you e _very little thing_ that is wrong with that idealistic piece of crap. I really, really want to do that.”

“Why don’t you do it now?” Enjolras asked, his voice soft and oh boy that was doing all sorts of things to Grantaire’s insides that made him feel annoyingly like a fifteen year old. _Enjolras really wanted to hear those arguments, partly because he owed it to Rousseau to justify his points, but mostly because he just_ really _loved arguing with Grantaire._  

“Oh, I need to do it in person, Apollo. There is little in the world I love as much as your face when I prove you wrong, so I don’t want to miss out on an opportunity to see it again.” It was quiet for a moment as they both contemplated just how much they wanted that to actually happen.

“Promise me, Grantaire,” Enjolras said sincerely, “Promise me we’ll get to do that.” _He knew he shouldn’t have said it. For God’s sake, he was the one who was supposed to be offering comfort here, but he couldn’t help himself._ Grantaire felt his stomach drop when he registered the words, a rueful smile spreading across his face because goddamn it he loved Enjolras. He really did and fuck all if he was going to die tomorrow.

“I promise,” Enjolras breathed an audible sigh of relief and Grantaire smiled genuinely at that, “Get ready, because I’m also going to make you pancakes. I make _really_ good pancakes, Apollo.”

“That sounds really nice, R. I’m a shit cook, so that sounds really _very_ nice.” Enjolras replied laughingly, _because he just couldn’t stop grinning,_ and Grantaire flushed at the use of his nickname. He was going to comment on it when Bahorel knocked loudly on his door.

“Come on, R? Can you let me in, I’m really sorry. Can we talk, please?” _Enjolras heard muffled sounds in the background and Grantaire groaned quietly before responding to him._

“I should probably go.” He didn’t want to. God knows he could have talked to Enjolras all night, but he also knew he really needed some rest and he needed to fix shit with ‘Rel and he needed to feed Cat and he needed to throw up a couple times, so he did have to go.

 “Yeah, yeah, that’s no problem.”

“Okay. Thanks, Apollo, for this. Thanks for… everything.” He was not going to say goodbye. He couldn’t.  

“Goodnight, R.” _The second he hung up, Enjolras threw the phone down. He laid back against the headboard and heard himself whimper softly as he grabbed one of his pillows and curled himself around it. He probably looked pathetic and honestly he knew he did, laying in the fetal position on his bed, crying about a cynical, angry, artistic, intelligent, beautiful boy he really shouldn’t have allowed himself to fall in love with. That didn’t stop him from staying that way even as he heard Combeferre get home around 1:30 and knock on his bedroom door to check why the light was still on._

“Enj?” _his comforting voice whispered as he cracked open the door,_ “Oh shit, Enjolras, what’s  wrong?” _He moved quickly to the bed and Enjolras abandoned the pillow for the warmth of his best friend, curling into ‘Ferre’s side instead, allowing the man to run his fingers through Enjolras’ hair soothingly._

“What if he dies tomorrow, ‘Ferre? He could die and there is nothing I can fucking do to stop it.”

“Enjolras, I’m so sorry. I know this is hard, but Grantaire is young and he’s strong and there’s just as much chance that he’ll pull through as there is otherwise,” _Enjolras knew he was right and he knew he needed to hear ‘Ferre’s logic, but it still hurt. His whole body still ached. Combeferre took his friend’s chin in his hand and tilted it so Enjolras was looking right at him,_ “My money’s on him, Enjolras. He’s tougher than he thinks.” _Enjolras nodded his head and then curled back into Combeferre’s side, closing his eyes and willing the tears to stop, though he knew they wouldn’t. He hadn’t cried in ten years, so he doubted this time it would be easy to stop it. So he just let himself grieve, praying to whatever god that would listen that Grantaire would be alright._


End file.
